


Say It To My Face

by Ghostinthehouse



Series: Demon and Angel Professors [13]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Professors, Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Disabled Crowley (Good Omens), M/M, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-09-24 04:27:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20352373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghostinthehouse/pseuds/Ghostinthehouse
Summary: When the stair brigade students stepped into Dr Fell's cosy, cluttered office to make their apologies, he was fussing gently around. Another man was examining the bookshelves, his back turned to the door.





	Say It To My Face

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Français available: [Professeurs Ange et Démon - 2e arc](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25248397) by [AikaRainbow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AikaRainbow/pseuds/AikaRainbow)

When the stair brigade students stepped into Dr Fell's cosy, cluttered office to make their apologies, he was fussing gently around. Another man was examining the bookshelves, his back turned to the door.

Dr Fell closed the door behind them, waved them to chairs, and took a seat of his own. "Join us please, Anthony."

The man turned and they saw his face, and the dark glasses hiding his eyes. The students looked at each other as one thought crashed into both minds. Oh,  _fuck_ .

By the time they recovered, Dr Crowley was settled in the chair beside Dr Fell. "I'm told you had something you wanted to say?" His voice was utterly neutral, and his face as unreadable as his glasses. "Get on with it, then."

"Give them a chance, dear." Dr Fell's voice was as warm as ever as he laced his fingers over his paunch.

"I  _am_ giving them a chance." Dr Crowley folded his arms.

Both professors were already dressed for the dinner, and made a study of contrasts. Dr Fell wore a pristine cream suit, with a golden waistcoat, pale blue shirt, and tartan bowtie. (Crowley had grumbled as he straightened it for him, "Where did you even  _find_ ace pride tartan, angel?")

Dr Crowley wore a black suit over a charcoal grey shirt and a dark red cravat. ("Red suits you, dear," Aziraphale had murmured, smoothing down his collar.)

The silence felt like a black hole swallowing all the words the two students had intended to say. Now they sat frozen as everything they had seen before shifted into a new pattern and a lot of things suddenly fell into place. "I- We-" the left hand one mumbled at last, "wanted to apologise. Uh. Well. Um. We, er, didn't mean to insult you. Or... Or..." He trailed off.

Aziraphale and Crowley exchanged glances, and Aziraphale read the tension in Crowley's jaw and the determination in the set of his shoulders and nodded fractionally, giving him the lead. It hadn't been the mild insults that had made him angry in the first place. It had been the way these two tried to inflict serious pain on Crowley (and others of course, but mostly Crowley) in the name of "health".

Crowley snorted. "I've been called worse in my time. I hope you're not expecting me to forgive you."

Their eyes went wide and fearful even though Crowley wasn't trying to be threatening.

Crowley gave them a moment and then went on, "An apology isn't a reset button on some game. You can't undo what you've done, you can only go forward and deal with the results. Hang around the wrong people, ask the wrong questions, say things you hate yourself for later? Still happened. What matters is whether you're going to do it _again_. And that means realising what you did wrong in the first place. Which you don't seem to have done."

Dr Fell raised an eyebrow at Dr Crowley, who responded with a wry quirk of the mouth. "It wasn't the insults, was it, angel?"

"Hardly."

"Then _what_?" the right hand student blurted.

"You acted as if your assumptions and judgements were iron facts," Dr Fell said primly. "And that was hurting people."

Dr Crowley added with wry fondness. "He's very protective."

"What assumptions?"

"That you can tell whether someone needs the lifts. Or any accomodation, for that matter. And you really can't. Learn that. Do better. _Grow_ better. Make that your apology, not some words." He looked ostentatiously at his watch. "Dinner, angel."

"Ah," Dr Fell beamed. "Mustn't be late!"

A pair of elegant canes leaned against the wall, one pale gold with an apple for a handle, the other dark red with a snake's head. The snake was worn smooth, the apple less so. Dr Crowley took the snake cane and passed the apple one to Dr Fell, who accepted it with the slight smile that indicates a private joke. "After you," he said, ushering them all out.


End file.
